


Fathers

by smergrl3495



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Daddy Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father Figures, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Gregson is a gruff, Non-Sexual Spanking, Spanking, This is an old fic please don't judge me for it!, grumpy daddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2017-12-31 14:47:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smergrl3495/pseuds/smergrl3495
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after episode 16, Marcus and Sherlock face the consequences of their actions, as well as learning where they stand in Gregson's life. Father/son relationships, contains spanking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This story is a continuation of ficwriterjet’s story The Mature Adult, but it is not required to read that story before this. I do suggest that you read it though if you like this, and you can find it on fanfiction quite easily if you look up the authors name. All you really need to know for this fic is that Gregson and Sherlock have reconciled and that Gregson made a promise to Sherlock that when Sherlock puts himself and others in danger, Gregson will punish him. Warning: the following fic will contain spanking.

Fathers

 

The case was closed; Officer Reyes was taken into custody, leaving Sherlock Holmes and Detective Marcus Bell sitting in the office of one Captain Gregson. Needless to say, he wasn’t exactly happy with what had transpired during the case.

“What the hell were you two thinking? No, let me answer that you weren’t thinking. Did you even stop to consider that maybe trying to pursue the gunman yourselves was completely dangerous and out of line? That whoever was trying to frame Marcus had a plan if something like that should happen?”

Sherlock slouched further and further in his seat as Gregson went on. He knew that keeping the evidence was wrong, but he had merely been trying to keep Detective Bell out of trouble. He knew that had Gregson found the gun in Marcus’s apartment he would have had to arrest him, even if he hadn’t wanted to. This would have been detrimental not only for the case, but for Detective Bell’s career. Once he had concluded that the gun was in fact the murder weapon, he knew that it being found in Marcus’s apartment would have been enough to convince everyone that he was the murderer, no matter that Sherlock knew that it wasn’t him that killed Curtis Bradshaw. He knew what he had done had helped Marcus, but the fact that Andre Bell was almost killed made sure that Gregson would not be letting this go. He thought back to a few weeks ago when Gregson had come over and made him the promise that if something like this that could have him end up in jail or hurt someone would lead to a spanking with his belt. Sherlock was not looking forward to that. The punch had hurt, the bruising lasting for days, and he did not want to see what kind of damage the Captain could inflict with multiple hits from a belt. Still, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad, Gregson had been forgiving after punching him the last time, and he hadn’t ignored him like his father would have, avoiding eye contact but still bringing up the incident when he wanted to use it against him. But what if-

“Sherlock are you even listening to me?”

Obviously not wanting to explain his train of thought, and wanting to move the conversation in another direction, Sherlock, never one to understand social cues said “Sorry, Captain, I was merely calculating the amount of cases I could be solving were I not here listening to you yell at us for solving a case and bringing in a murderer.” 

It wasn’t until after this was spoken that Sherlock realized that back talking Gregson perhaps wasn’t the best course of action when trying to calm him down.

“I have had enough of you doing whatever the hell you want Sherlock, you’re only allowed to be here because I say so, and you can’t keep disregarding the law because it doesn’t suit you. I thought we had dealt with this last time, but perhaps I’ll have to make good on my promise.”

At this point Marcus had heard quite enough, this was obviously between Sherlock and Gregson, not him. It was never about him. He quickly made for the door, but not quick enough.

“And just where to you think you’re going Detective Bell?” said Gregson, his attention diverted from Sherlock and fully on Marcus.

“This is between you and Sherlock, Captain, so I see no reason why I should stay,” he said, calmly inching towards the door, hoping to make his escape as soon as possible, before he blurted out something he couldn’t take back.

“Don’t stand there and pretend that you had no idea that Sherlock found the gun in your apartment. You had just as much to do with it as he did, if not more. If you hadn’t brought your brother to the station, he would have never had been shot.” No sooner were the words out of his mouth that Gregson wished he could have taken them back. Devastating hurt flashed over Marcus’s face and he quickly fled the office.

Sighing, Gregson turned back to Sherlock, kneeling down so he was at eye level with him, and tried to calm his temper. He had made enough of a mess of things already; he didn’t need to make Sherlock even more upset as well. “I have to go find Marcus okay? Joan’s waiting outside for you, so you can go home while I deal with him. I’ll be by in a bit okay?”

Thankful that Gregson had seemed to have calmed down, Sherlock nodded his acceptance.

Gregson smiled, and squeezed Sherlock’s knee lightly before standing up. “Good, and don’t work yourself up about it okay? I know from experience, its worse when you think about it too much.”

“Your advice will be taken under consideration, Captain. Now I had better hurry, Watson has been waiting for quite a while.”

Sherlock hurried out of the office, not wanting to induce the Captain’s ire. Had he stopped and turned around, he might have noticed the Captain standing in his office, his hand slowly massaging his temples, wondering how the hell he had ended up in this situation.

Gregson knew he had to make things right with Marcus, but he wasn’t quite sure how. His relationship was different than his one with Sherlock, yet also similar to it. He had taken the younger Detective under is wing early in his career much like he had done with Sherlock. He was smart, loyal, and good at taking orders. Gregson could even admit to himself that perhaps he had even developed a bit of a soft spot for the detective, though he had never told him so. Yet, where Sherlock practically screamed out for a father figure, as Joan had so helpfully pointed out, Marcus was more drawn in, though he supposed if he looked hard enough he could see traces of the same need to be loved that Sherlock had. Marcus was better at hiding it though, which brought him back to how he would deal with the problem at hand.

He had never had any problem with Marcus like this before, so he had never really had to punish him. He’d had to bench him early in his career for a few weeks once. He had been a hothead on the Michael’s case and almost got himself killed. After the suspension Marcus had come back thoroughly cowed, and it took Gregson a week to get him to look him in the eye. It had taken a month after that for Marcus to contribute anything to the case without being asked. He had seemed so frightened to upset him [Gregson] again, and at the time he had no idea why.

But now with this thing with Sherlock, and Joan putting thing in perspective for him, it made a bit more sense. He’d read Marcus’s file of course, he does his homework before letting someone into the NYPD.

As he leaned up against his desk, Gregson wondered if perhaps he should have seen this coming. Marcus didn’t have the best home life; his father was a cop who was killed when he was six, and the money that the Bell’s received from his death was not enough to live on. His mother had take on two or three jobs at a time to make ends meet, and his brother got involved in a gang. From there he’d worked his way through school and passed with flying colours. One of the reason’s he’d hired Marcus was because he respected his ability to succeed despite coming from a bad situation.

Now though, he wondered it that’s what made him so eager to please, so desperate for Gregson’s approval, his trust. Perhaps he’d somehow managed to become a surrogate father for not one, but two grown men. 

Crap.

This was why he didn’t have children; he didn’t do this touchy-feely stuff, especially not with another man. Sherlock was hard enough to deal with, but at least with him Gregson knew that he was the adult in the relationship, and that Sherlock accepted, maybe even expected, that. Marcus on the other hand was a whole new game. He had no idea how the younger man expected him to deal with the situation.

Should he approach it like he did with Sherlock, on a father/son level, or should he be the demanding boss who kept his people in line? Marcus had done well so far with the second option, perhaps seeing Gregson as some kind of rock that he could use to ground himself. But then again, this scene in his office could be a sign that a boss/employee relationship wasn’t enough for him anymore.

Deciding that he couldn’t spend all night wondering, he decided to just go to Marcus’s apartment to try and fix things.

After all, how hard could it be?


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

By the time Marcus got home, the sky was just starting to darken. He’d driven around a bit after what happened in the office, berating himself for his stupidity. God, sometime he just felt like such an idiot! Running away after a few words, like some kind of kid. He didn’t even want to think about what Gregson thought about him right now.

“He probably doesn’t even care that you’re gone”, a little voice in the back of his head taunted. “It’s not like you’re anything to him anyway.” Marcus stopped on the stairs up to his apartment and clenched his eyes shut tight. “Shut up” he gritted out through clenched teeth, hurrying up the stairs and unlocking the door before he made a scene in the hallway. Wouldn’t that be the perfect end to the perfect day?

He turned around and double checked the locked door, this thing with officer Reyes was making him a bit paranoid. Once he was assured that no one would be breaking in, he decided that he had better eat something. He hadn’t had anything since Andre was shot; he’d been too worried about him.

If you hadn’t brought your brother to the station, he would have never had been shot. Marcus froze, remembering what Gregson had said. Suddenly, he didn’t feel so hungry anymore. Marcus wrapped his arms around his torso, giving himself a sort of self-hug. He was shivering, but it wasn’t from the cold. Well, he thought to himself, you’ve really managed to screw things up this time haven’t you Marcus? Not only did you almost get your brother killed, but Gregson will never trust you again.

He moved slowly from the kitchen to his bed, he knew he wasn’t eating anytime soon with all these thoughts rolling around in his brain. The look in Gregson’s eyes when he had said that, the anger, the fury, but what hurt most of all was the betrayal and disappointment that lurked in their murky depths.

How could he betray the trust of the man who had helped him so much, who had never judged him by where he came from, but rather the quality of his work? Many other higher ups had read his file and judged him a loose canon. They never even gave him a chance to prove himself. One captain in particular when he applied had flat out told him that it was to risky to hire someone who had gang ties, even if it was his brother, and not him. Yet Gregson, against all odds had given him a chance, had seen the young cop fresh out of collage and saw how desperate he was to prove himself. He owed the man so much and yet he kept disappointing him. Why couldn’t he ever do anything right? 

Marcus laid down on his bed, clutching a pillow to his chest. How was Gregson supposed to trust him when he pulled shit like this? How could their relationship continue if Gregson didn’t trust him? He didn’t know what he would do if Gregson didn’t want to work with him anymore, if Gregson didn’t care about him anymore-

“Stop thinking like that” he whispered quietly, then as if realizing that he was all alone for the first time that night he raised his voice, “He doesn’t think of you like that.” Like he does with Sherlock. In the comfort and safety of his own room he allows feelings of jealously wash over him because dammit, he’s known Gregson longer, and it’s always about Sherlock, and he needs a dad too… Tears start leaking out, and he can’t for the life of him stop them, even if they make him feel like shit. A grown man shouldn’t feel like this, like his heart is breaking because he doesn’t have a daddy. He hasn’t had one since he was six years old. He barely even remembers his father. So why then does he feel this aching hole where a father should be, a hole that, and he can barely admit it to himself, Gregson has been unknowingly filling for him.

He knows he should be past it, but Gregson is what he always dreamed a dad would be like. He was strong, brave; he got him out of trouble and set him on the right path, and gave out advice whenever Marcus needed it. A few times when he’d fallen Gregson had helped him back up, had protected him. It had felt like that to him anyway, but was he just reading too much into their relationship? Was he just seeing what he wanted to see? 

Of course it was, because nobody had cared about Marcus when he was younger, so why would they care about him now? Sherlock was Gregson’s son; anyone with eyes could see that. He protected him, and loved him, and they had this way of speaking without saying anything, a silent language reserved only for father and sons. A language that Marcus would give anything to learn. But he can’t so he just buries his face in his pillow and stops pretending that everything is alright, that he doesn’t wish that Gregson would just once look at him like he does Sherlock. At that moment he hates Sherlock Holmes with everything that he has, with his very being, for having everything that he wants.

The guilt comes soon after though, because he knows about Sherlock, he’s seen the file, heard the rumors. He’s not called detective Bell for nothing. He knows about Sherlock’s father, he knows about the drugs, and how messed up his life could be. Sherlock deserved a father who cared about him, who loved him no matter his faults, because even though Marcus’s father died at least he knew his dad had loved him. At least, he hoped that he had. But having a father who ignored and scorned you, well that would have been hell.

“Grow up Marcus,” he scornfully muttered, tears still streaming down his cheeks. He knew it could have had it worse. Yet despite that guilt he felt at hating Sherlock, however brief, he still couldn’t help the jealously that was still boiling in the pit of his stomach, making him nauseous with the pettiness of it all. He knew he couldn’t make Gregson feel that way about him, no matter how much he wished it were true. 

He had been so close to blurting out what he felt at the office, when he heard Gregson talking to Sherlock about consequences and promises and rules and boundaries and everything else that Marcus didn’t have but craved with his entire being. He had felt such wants before, when watching other kids with their happy families, his friends making father’s day cards, or standing up in front of the class and reading the paper’s they wrote on what they loved about their dad while he sat at the back, blank paper in front of him, trying not to burst into tears, because he was mommy’s little man, and he would be strong for her and Andre. When he dreamed of coming home to a house filled with food and music, where mom didn’t cry at night and Andre didn’t sneak in through the window at one in the morning smelling of smoke and seawater.

While he wallowed in his memories and past dreams, there was a sudden knock on his door. Not knowing who it could be, and not wanting to interact with anyone right now, he ignored it. They’d go away soon enough.

Gregson’s voice was unmistakable, even through the door and all the way to Marcus’s room. “Marcus, I know you’re in there, come and let me in!” This was followed by Gregson repeatedly turning the knob and shaking the door a bit, seemingly impatient to be let in. Obviously the man wasn’t in a good mood, though in retrospect Marcus thought that he really couldn’t blame him, what with the difficulties he and Sherlock put him through recently.

Unwanted hope and joy blossomed in Marcus’s chest, despite his trepidation for what the Captain might have to say, but he squashed it down and kept silent. He didn’t think he could take much more disappointment, and he knew that even if he were to try and wipe off the tears, Gregson would know what was going on. That would lead to him either having to talk about his feelings, which he knew neither him nor Gregson would be comfortable with, or have him be an emotionally unstable kid and just dump all that he was feeling onto Gregson.

He’d entertained the thought before. Of telling Gregson what he felt, fantasying about Gregson telling him he felt the same way too, that Marcus was the son he had never had, but he was just to afraid to tell him. In this fantasy Gregson would hold him close, and feelings of loneliness would melt away and it would be just them. He would feel safe, and loved, and everything else that he had always wanted from a dad. This fantasy was so tantalizing and felt so real and so close that he sometimes had to physically restrain himself from running to Gregson, because this was the real world, and all that would accomplish was pushing one of his best friends away. Besides, Gregson already had Sherlock, so what would he need with someone like him?

“I’m in no mood for this Marcus, so open the damn door!”

Was it worth Gregson’s ire to preserve his pride? No. He quickly got up and tried his best to wipe off all traces of tears, knowing that the action was going to ultimately be useless, but feeling the need to do it none the less. 

“I’ll be right there, just a second!”

He made himself as presentable as he could under the circumstances, but once he got over to the door he froze. What was he going to say that didn’t make him sound like a complete idiot? ‘Sorry I stormed out like a complete brat, I was just angry that you love Sherlock more than you love me, and you being disappointed in me makes me feel like curling up in my bed and crying myself to sleep?’ Yeah, that would go over well. Gritting his teeth and deciding that there was no way around it now, he opened the door to a Gregson that was three shades redder than normal.

“It’s about time, what took you so long? Never mind, come on, you have some explaining to do.”

It took one look at Marcus for Gregson’s irritation to die down. His eyes were bright red from crying, and he looked so utterly devastated and brittle that Gregson immediately softened his tone, fully aware that he was heading into unknown territory. He knew that this conversation was going to define the intangible thing that was his and Marcus’s relationship. He would have to tread lightly, breathe in, breath out. 

“We need to talk.”


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry for the wait, I hope this chapter turns out as well as the others. Don’t forget to review! :)

Marcus stepped out of the way and let Gregson make himself comfortable on the couch. He warily made his way over to sit in the chair across from him. 

“What do you want to talk about?”

Gregson sighed and rubbed his temples. He would have to start stocking up on aspirin if the last few weeks were any indication as to how things were going. “Well for starters, you could explain why you thought it would be a good idea to hide evidence from me.”

Marcus almost felt relieved that Gregson wasn’t questioning his disappearing act at the office. There would have been no easy way to explain that without bringing up unneeded and unwanted emotions. Still, it wasn’t going to be any easier explaining away the fact that he had willingly gone along with lying to Gregson, not to mention that he was stupid enough to think that his brother tried to frame him for murder.

He was about to reply when his throat tightened. Andre. How could he have thought his brother could have done that? His actions had almost gotten his brother killed, and for what? Because he had jumped to conclusions and turned on his own flesh and blood. He’d caused so much trouble, all because he just didn’t think! Now Gregson was staring at him because he was probably having a mini freak out and calm down Marcus you’re fine…. 

He started to have trouble breathing, but just when he started panicking Gregson reached over, firmly gripping his shoulder, grounding him. “Marcus! Calm down okay. You’re fine.” 

He tried to focus on Gregson, on the connection he had with him through his touch, and took a few deep breaths. He tried not to let the disappointment show when Gregson withdrew.

“What was that about?” 

“It’s nothing, I’m good, just had a little trouble breathing that’s all.” 

“Are you alright now?” 

“I’m fine.”

Gregson looked at him skeptically, but decided that now was not the time to push it. Things where going to be hard enough as it was, dealing with the fact that Marcus was having panic attacks was not going on the list right now. He did, however, still have to deal with the problem at hand. He still didn’t know what he was going to do. Putting Marcus on probation hadn’t helped the one time he’d tried it, but Gregson wasn’t sure if Marcus would accept the other option.

He could admit to himself that he cared for the detective, how he didn’t want to see any harm come to him. But there was quite a difference between making sure that he survived his job, and acting like his father. Gregson had never been an overly emotional man; in fact he barely showed people he cared about them. He had grown up in a time where you didn’t show affection for another man unless he was your son. It was different now, times had changed, but that didn’t make this situation any easier. Marcus was different than Sherlock, needed different things than Sherlock needed. How was he supposed to know if this was what he needed? If he approached this in a way that made him the adult and Marcus the child, and Marcus rejected that, then there was no way they could go back to the way things where before. Gregson wasn’t even sure if he was ready for there relationship to change. This… thing he had going on with Sherlock was already strange and confusing, he didn’t know if he could handle two grown men needing that level of emotional support from him.

Yet, when he walked into the apartment and saw Marcus’s tear stained face, he had known that he couldn’t just yell at him and suspend him for a few weeks. He knew that Marcus needed something more. That led him right back to the problem of what that something more was. Sighing, wishing he could go back to a few months ago, before Joan had come and everything had gotten so damn complicated, he decided that he was just going to have to play it by ear and hope that by some miracle he got things right.

“Let’s just skip right to then. You hid evidence from me, and I can’t afford that happening again. If I can’t trust you not to do that then-”  
“You don’t trust me?” The question was quiet, but the silence after was crushing. Gregson didn’t trust him. His stomach seized and he felt like he was going to throw up. His eyes watered unintentionally, and he brought a hand up to quickly brush the beginnings of tears away. It was bad enough he’d lost the trust of one of the most important people in his life, he didn’t need Gregson to think he was a crybaby as well. He’d wait until after he was gone to do that.

Suddenly a horrible thought struck him. What if Gregson was about to tell him that he was fired? That he couldn’t work with someone he couldn’t trust? What if Gregson never wanted to see him again? He knew that there were many others who wanted Gregson as their boss; he was the best captain on the force, in Marcus’s opinion anyway. The other captain’s were right, he was too much of a loose canon, and now Gregson had finally seen what everyone else saw when they looked at him. He was worthless. He clenched his hands into fists deciding that if he was going to be fired, he would take it like a man.

-

Even as Marcus thought this, Gregson’s thoughts were taking a whole different direction. It wasn’t the fact that Marcus seemed to think that he didn’t trust him that threw him through the loop, but the way he had asked it. He had sounded like a kid whose world was crashing down around him, like his heart was breaking. For some unexplainable reason, Marcus feeling like that made Gregson want to take him in his arms and protect Marcus from all that would hurt him. 

He suddenly had the need to explain to Marcus that he hadn’t meant it that way, that he did trust him, if only to get that horrible, devastated look out of his eyes. He suddenly knew that he had to make this right, and soon. He had no idea how he knew, but for some reason, deep down in his very soul there was a voice telling him to fix this. That he had somehow one again totally misjudged how Marcus was feeling and had said the wrong thing. He wasn’t letting Marcus run away from it this time. He was going to have to meet this head on if he was ever going to make things right again. He could see Marcus closing off already as Gregson thought this, he could see the mask Marcus was putting on, trying to hide what he felt.

He quickly got off the couch, and got down on his knees in front of Marcus, much like he had done with Sherlock earlier in the day. Marcus tried to look away, but Gregson took hold of his chin and gently turned his head so that they were looking each other in the eye.

“Look, it’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s more like…well; I just don’t want this happening again, okay? You could have been hurt, hell Reyes could have shot you instead of your brother, and I would have no idea who it was. Do you realize how guilty I would have felt if something happened to you? How much I would miss you?”

Marcus weakly tried to turn his head away, not wanting to look at the depth of emotion in Gregson’s eyes, yet also not wanting to look away, fearful that this was another one of his fantasies, taunting him with what could never be.

“But… why would you miss me?”

“Why would I miss you? You’re my friend Marcus! Of course I would miss you!”

Of course, a friend. Why would he think anything different? He again tried to look away, not wanting to blurt out what he felt. That he didn’t want Gregson to just be his friend; he wanted him to be his dad. But how could he ask something like that from the man? Gregson being here had given him hope, a hope that maybe he did care about him as more than a friend. He was suddenly angry at Gregson, for not seeing what it was that Marcus needed. For not loving him like he loved Sherlock, for not letting Marcus be his son.

He suddenly stood up, not even wanting to be near Gregson. Why couldn’t he have just left him alone? He would have been fine in the morning, his emotions would have been spent during the night, and he when he went into work the next morning he would have calmly explained himself and taken whatever punishment Gregson deemed necessary. Why did he have to come now, when Marcus was so raw and open from recent events, when every wrong word from Gregson shatters him, splintering his already fragile hold on what was left of his pride and dignity. It wasn’t fair that Gregson could make him feel like this, and Marcus couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Just go away! I don’t need you here! I don’t want you here! Just go play daddy with Sherlock and leave me out of it!”

The second the words were out of his mouth he wished he could take them back. He did want Gregson here, why had he said that?! He couldn’t go back on his words now though, no matter how much he wanted to just break down and ask Gregson to forgive him. He clenched his fists, shaking with barely contained emotion, tears once again streaming down, unnoticed by Marcus.

Gregson slowly got up, warily looking at Marcus. The kid was a mess, yet every time Gregson tried to fix things, he only managed to make them worse. For a second he thought about leaving, seeing as Marcus had told him in no uncertain terms to get the hell out. He knew that he wasn’t getting out of this so easily though, that this wouldn’t just magically be better in the morning. Words weren’t getting through to Marcus; everything Gregson said was just being interpreted in the worst possible way. He didn’t know what was making him so upset, and in his current state Marcus wouldn’t be telling him anytime soon. So he let his long buried parental instincts take over, and he slowly approached Marcus and calmly wrapped his arms around him, gently bringing Marcus’s face to the crook of his neck, placing one hand on his head and the other between his shoulder blades.

Marcus froze. A second ago he’d been screaming at Gregson to get out, and now he was hugging him? Why? The shock soon wore off, and Marcus was quick to wrap his arms around Gregson, to dig his fingers into his back and hold on for dear life. The hug was everything he thought it would be. All the fear, anger, hurt and loneliness he had felt melted away until it was just him and Gregson. He had never felt so warm and protected before, like no harm could come to him as long as he stayed in the arms of this great man. He could forget about all the pain and difficulties that had surrounded his life for the past few days, and just bask in the love. Yes, love. He could practically feel it radiating off Gregson, filling Marcus with a sense of wonder and awe, that he could be the recipient of such feelings was impossible, yet here it was.

Gregson noticed the change in Marcus, how he went from stock-still, every muscle tense in trepidation, to practically melting into the embrace, drawing as much comfort as he could from Gregson. For the first time that night, Gregson felt like he had done something right.

They stayed like that for a while, partway through Gregson had started to calmly rub Marcus’s back. The tears soon dried, and the shaking stopped. Gregson finally pulled away, needing some space, he never was a touchy-feely kind of guy. For Marcus, however, he was trying. He led the kid back over to the couch, both sitting on it this time with their knees touching, as Gregson knew that Marcus still needed to feel his touch to stay grounded in such an emotionally charged situation.

“How about we try this again?”

Marcus gave a weak nod, giving Gregson a sheepish smile. For Gregson, he’d try.

“Hiding evidence from me is a bad idea. Not only because it jeopardizes your job, but it puts you in danger, and I’m not going to let you hurt yourself, not anymore. I don't think of you as just my employee, and from what I witnessed her tonight has lead me to believe that you don’t see me as just your boss. I can’t let you get away with this, but I also think that the ways I’ve dealt with you before haven’t worked either.”

Marcus winced remembering the Mitchell case, remembering how he had felt, how hurt and lost. How he had convinced himself that after the suspension Gregson would wash his hands of him. When that hadn’t happened he had avoided Gregson at all costs, not getting in his way, hoping that he would forgive him. He nodded, agreeing that that method of punishment should not happen again.

Still, Marcus felt a warm feeling growing in his chest. It had been there since the hug, but when Gregson had started talking about seeing him as more than an employee, he almost couldn’t contain his elation. Still, he had to know, he had to push Gregson, he need to figure out what their relationship really was. The hug had reignited the hope within him that maybe, just maybe, Gregson saw him as his son, but he needed to hear the man say it, in no uncertain terms that that was the way things were.

“If you don’t think of me as just your employee, then what am I to you?”

Gregson flushed a bit, but forced himself to look Marcus in the eye when he said it. He knew that if he avoided eye contact, Marcus would think he was lying, and he had no intention of repeating himself.

Taking a deep breath, trying to find the right words, he finally ended up saying, in no uncertain terms, “You’re like a son to me, alright. We may not be related, but I like to think of you as my son.”

Before he had a chance to say anything else Marcus had already buried himself in his chest, clutching at him and burying his face in Gregson’s by now soaked shirt.

“Thank you.” 

It was said so quietly that Gregson almost didn’t hear it, muffled as it was against the fabric of his shirt. The sentiment was heard loud and clear, and Gregson decided that nothing needed to be added. He just held Marcus once again while he cried content in knowing that he was helping him as much as he could.

-

A/N: Hope you liked that. Spanking will be in the next chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so late because I wrote this story years ago on Fanfiction and wanted to edit it/rewrite the ending before I posted it here. It's been so long though and I've never gotten around to it so I decided to just post the rest of the chapters as is. Hope someone out there likes it anyways. :P


	4. Chapter 4

Warning: This chapter will contain the spanking of an adult by a father figure. Now you have been warned. :) Now on with the story!

It took Marcus quite a while to calm down, but finally the tears abated and he was able to get his breathing under control. He didn’t loosen his grip on Gregson, still a bit fearful that this was a dream. He couldn’t believe how the day had turned out. He had come home feeling like his relationship with Gregson was ruined, and now Gregson was saying that he thought of Marcus as his son. He’d dreamed for years of this happening, but he’d never really thought it would. Now that it had he was scared that it would all be ripped away from him like some kind of cruel joke.

He shyly looked up at Gregson to see what he thought of this turn of events, but Gregson had a far off look in his eyes, and Marcus couldn’t tell. He didn’t want to ruin the moment by talking so he put his head back down on Gregson’s chest and waited for him to make the first move.

Gregson didn’t notice Marcus’s anxiety, as he was facing problems of his own. He knew that he would have to punish Marcus, but he didn’t know how. He was going to discuss it with Marcus, but they had gotten side tracked. Once Gregson had told Marcus that he thought of him as his son, he knew there was no going back to the earlier conversation. By accepting Gregson as his father, or at least father figure, Marcus was essentially becoming the child in the relationship. This meant that Gregson was, like in his relationship with Sherlock, the one in charge, the one calling the shots. Unfortunately he was also the one who had to figure out what punishment Marcus could handle.

He’d briefly considered using the same punishment he had planned to use on Sherlock, but now he was thinking that the punishment wasn’t the right course of action, for either Marcus or Sherlock. When he had first thought of spanking Sherlock he had done it with his own childhood spankings in mind. His father had always used his belt for all his childhood misdemeanors, spanking him and leaving the comforting to his mother. 

His father had never been a physically affectionate man; Gregson supposed that was why he himself had a problem showing people he cared. Yet he had never doubted that his father loved him, he had just shown it in different ways, like how he would get this special smile when he had done something right, or praising him when he learned something new. Looking down at the man in his arms right now, he knew he could not handle this as his father would have.

He had handled the belt because he had never been one for closeness during a punishment. He had never needed the reassurance that he was loved and cared for. Unlike him, Sherlock and Marcus had not grown up in stable homes where they knew indefinitely that they were loved and forgiven for their transgressions once the punishment was over. Marcus’s mother had probably tried, but between the death of her husband, working two to three jobs, and worrying about her older son’s gang activity, Marcus had most likely slipped through the cracks. Sherlock’s father, at least from what he could gather, was a bastard. He didn’t know much more than that, Sherlock never talked about it. All he knew was what Joan had told him (*In ficwriterjet’s story “The Mature Adult) that the man was neglectful, to the point that he left some pretty bad emotional scars on his son, making him, according to Joan, physically and mentally an adult, but emotionally a child.

Which lead him back to the fact that, considering the current emotional state both his “charges”, he knew that he could not spank them with his belt. It would create too much of a divide between him and them, which is the opposite of what the spanking is trying to accomplish. He wanted the punishment to be about showing them that he cared for them and wanted them to be safe and happy, not to see how much pain he could cause them. Joan had said that the more emotionally attached they got to him, the less likely they would do something to upset him. Still, he couldn’t just let them get away with what they had done. They needed some kind of punishment to ensure that this would never happen again.

He felt Marcus shift closer; the anxiety was coming off the younger man in waves. Marcus had no idea what to expect from him, and Gregson had no idea what he was going to do. He wondered what Joan would do in this situation. She always seemed to know what was going on with the people around her, something Gregson thought he to possessed until recently. Now that he thought about it, Joan would probably make them tea and talk about their feelings, which Gregson was definitely not going to do. For one thing that wouldn’t be punishment, and two he really didn’t think that he would be able to do that anyway. He was going to have to handle it his own way.

At that moment a thought came to him. He could have a punishment that was equal parts his father and Joan. A punishment that both showed Marcus and Sherlock that he cared about them, and also showed his displeasure. He would still spank them, but instead of using his belt he would use his hand. That way there would be a connection between him and them during the punishment, which would enable them to see that he was doing it for their own good, and he would provide the comfort that was needed for them to feel forgiven afterward.

After this, he mused, he would to have to go fishing or something to hold on to what was left of his manliness.

Glad that he had finally decided on a method of punishment he shifted Marcus up to a sitting position, nudging Marcus’s head up so they were eye to eye. 

“How’re you holding up?”

The question caused Marcus’s face to heat up, embarrassed that Gregson was treating him like a kid, yet he had to admit that he was enjoying being looked after, no matter how much the more mature part of his brain was screaming at him to man up. ‘Screw it’, he thought, after all that had happened that night, he doubted Gregson cared if he was a bit more needy than usual. At least, he hoped he didn’t mind.

“I’m okay.”

Gregson squeezed his shoulder for a second, flashing him a quick smile, then withdrew, schooling his features into a more stern expression.

“Alright, then I think it’s time to deal with what brought this all about. I’ve already told you why hiding evidence from me is a bad idea, and that from now on I am going to be taking a more active role in your life, helping you make the right choices. Part of helping you make the right choices is giving you consequences for when you make the wrong choice. Before you ask, I do the same for Sherlock, and if you and I are going to share this kind of a relationship then you’ll have to follow the same rules as he does. Are you prepared to do that?”

“Yes sir, I’ll take whatever punishment you see fit.” Despite saying that, Marcus still started to sweat a little. Gregson had said that he didn’t think suspending him would help him learn his lesson, yet when Sherlock had tried to murder someone he had gotten a suspension, albeit a short one. Had Gregson changed his mind about suspending him? He hoped not, those weeks after the Mitchell case had been hell. But, if it meant being treated like Gregson’s son, he would do just about anything.

“Alright, then I’ll need you to stand up and then position yourself over my knee.”

“Sir?” 

“You heard me Marcus.”

“But, why?”

“I’m going to spank you as punishment Marcus.”

“That’s my punishment? Captain, I’m a grown man! That’s a punishment for kids!” said Marcus standing up and regarding Gregson with a mixture of confusion and annoyance and the suggestion that Gregson expected to submit to something so childish.

“And what are you?” asked Gregson, one eyebrow raised, looking up at Marcus, fixing with a piercing gaze. Seeing Marcus was about start an argument Gregson answered his own question. “You are an adult, I know that, but I don’t think you are on an emotional level.” Gregson squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He really needed that fishing trip after this. Was it possible to choke on your own mushiness? He opened his eyes and continued he’d made it this far and there was no turning around now.

“You need the emotional support that much is obvious, and I’m willing to give you that, because I do care about you and want to see you happy. Believe me, after the spanking you’ll be forgiven, which is a lot better than letting your guilt fester like you let it during your suspension during the Mitchell case. 

You said you’d take any punishment I saw fit, and this is what I’ve chosen. If you truly want me to treat you like a son then this is what you will come to expect when you go against the rules.” After saying his piece Gregson waited, knowing that Marcus was going to have to decide for himself this time, had to make the choice of whether this was really what he wanted. If this wasn’t 100% Marcus’s choice then Gregson knew he would have to fight him every time he needed to punish him. Marcus either needed to realize that this was what he needed, or that this was not the kind of relationship he wanted to have with Gregson. There was no in between.

Marcus chewed his lip, hesitating before taking a step closer. “You promise that you’ll forgive me?”

There was a tugging in Gregson’s heart when he heard the childish, innocent question. “I promise that I will always forgive you after a punishment, no matter what.”

Satisfied with the answer Marcus slowly laid himself across Gregson’s lap, giving the man his complete trust, knowing that he would take care of him.

Gregson smiled down at him. “Good choice kid,” he said, giving Marcus’s back a quick rub before getting on to the task at hand.

The first swat came as a shock, and Marcus quickly threw his hand back to protect his nether regions. Gregson quickly trapped it behind his back and continued. Marcus continued to struggle, this hurt way more than he had thought! There was no way Gregson could only be using his hand! After about 15 swats Marcus decided that it was enough, so he made to get up. Gregson put his leg over Marcus’s and continued.

Finding himself trapped, Marcus started to become vocal about his displeasure. “Captain, I think that’s enough now!” 

In an even voice, not even slowing his pace, Gregson said “That’s not up to you to decide, it’s over when I feel that you’re learned your lesson.”

“But I’ve learned my lesson now!”

He was met with silence, and now it was really starting to hurt. He stayed quiet and focused on not crying. He had done that enough today, he wanted to show Gregson that he was able to at least take a child’s punishment without acting like a baby.

Gregson looked down at Marcus, and seeing that he stopped struggling he decided that the boy was ready to listen now. “Hiding evidence from me is dangerous and foolhardy. If I don’t know what’s going on then I can’t protect you, and I’ve promised both myself and you that I will look after you, and I don’t break my promises. I need you trust me, I need you to understand that you can’t do this again. I will keep you safe, you’re not alone anymore.”

Silent tears started falling down Marcus’s cheeks, both from the words and the spanking. “I know sir, I will. I promise.” 

“Good. Then trust me when I say that it was not your fault what happened. You made a few bad choices, but what happened to both Curtis Bradshaw and your brother was not your doing. The blame for that rests solely on Reyes, not you okay?”

The tears started coming faster, and it started to become a bit harder to breathe, the guilt. “B-but if I h-had come to you sooner,-ow- my b-brother wouldn’t –ouch- have been h-hurt.”

“Did you shoot him?”

“N-no.” 

“Then it’s not your fault. Feeling guilty is not going to help anyone. You need to let go Marcus. I forgive you, Andre forgives you. It’s time to forgive yourself.”

After hearing that Marcus couldn’t hold back any longer, and started sobbing, burying his face into Gregson’s pant leg, trying to muffle his cries. Gregson decided that Marcus was just about done and landed ten particularly hard swats bringing the spanking to a close. He started to rub Marcus’s back, humming a song that his mother had sang to him after his own spankings. 

‘I turning into an old softie’ he thought, though there was no venom behind it, merely an observation. Marcus started to calm down a bit, and Gregson went about helping him up, letting Marcus lean against him for support. 

“Are you feeling better now?” 

Wiping away his latest bout of tears, he was going to have such a headache in the morning, Marcus was about to reply that no, the only thing different was that now his but hurt. Yet upon pausing for a moment he realized that even tough the guilt wasn’t altogether gone he did feel much better. The knowledge of what he done was still there, but sick feeling the bottom of his belly was gone. Knowing that Gregson wasn’t angry at him anymore had greatly helped, as well as the knowledge that he wasn’t alone in dealing with his pain, that Gregson would help him.

“I d-do feel a b-bit better,” he said, gently leaning his head against Gregson’s shoulder. 

Gregson smiled bringing him arm around the kid’s neck and drawing him closer, pulling him into a half hug as they sat there, waiting for Marcus to catch his breath. Gregson looked up at the clock and noticed it was almost 7, remembering he still had to deal with Sherlock tonight. 

He slowly got up, stretching to get the kinks out of him back, rubbing his face with his hands. This was going to be a long night. He reached down to offer Marcus a hand up, and then lead the exhausted kid to bed. Marcus all but collapsed on his bed, leaving Gregson to pull the covers up over him.

“I have to go deal with Sherlock, are you going to be alright?”

“I’ll be fine dad.” Marcus instantly froze, wide awake now, looking up and Gregson to judge his reaction to the slip.

“Alright buddy, goodnight.”

Gregson didn’t think he’d ever see a smile so bright as Marcus’s right then. 

“Night.”

Once he got back to his car Gregson leaned his forehead on the steering wheel and sighed.

One down, one to go.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock had been quiet the whole way home, which was unusual by itself. However Joan had chalked it up to Sherlock just being Sherlock. He could just be focusing on another case, trying to connect the dots. Yet after all this time with Sherlock Joan thought that option was a bit unlikely, seeing as she could never get him to be quiet when they were in the middle of a case. What was it then, that had Sherlock looking so morose and sullen?

The entire ride continued like this, with Joan sneaking looks at Sherlock, who continued to stare out the window, not making a sound. When they arrived back home Sherlock immediately pulled out the newest case file and got to work, still not speaking a word to Joan. She went to the kitchen and made a pot of tea, knowing she was going to have to confront him on what was going on, and hoping that tea would make him a bit easier to deal with.

Once it was ready she went into the living room and gently sat down next to Sherlock, careful not to spill the tea. He took it from her silently, and mumbled a quiet “thank you” to her, taking a small sip before setting it off to the side. They sat there like that for a few minutes, the unnatural silence almost smothering them. Joan wanted to make the first move, wanted to ask Sherlock what was wrong, but she had used the time making the tea to reflect. She realized that she wanted Sherlock to make the first move this time. He was getting better, communicating more, perhaps even getting a bit more in touch with his emotions, if his growing relationships with both her and Gregson were anything to go by. Yet if he was ever going to be able to live and connect with other people, to find a stable place were the drugs would never again be needed, he needed to learn how to ask for help.

Still, she couldn’t expect him to suddenly start, so she decided to meet him halfway.

“What is this case about?”

She almost missed the quick flash of gratitude in Sherlock’s eyes before he turned back to the case file and began animatedly telling her about it, telling her how simple it really was, because really Watson how could the police even think it was the mother when obviously the mailman had a secret infatuation with them as witnessed in the dirt stains on the envelopes lying on the side table in the third crime scene picture. After about a half hour of this Sherlock trailed off, having exhausted all talk of the case, and his eyes once again took on a glassy quality and he sat there looking for all the world like a dejected puppy, whose master has left him once again in the cold.

Knowing that she couldn’t allow him to stay in whatever dark place his mind had conjured up, (for she knew that whatever Sherlock was thinking about was unpleasant, seeing a not ever a case could shock him out of it for long) she figured that her best bet of getting anything out of him at this point was confronting it head on. Obviously Sherlock just wasn’t ready to ask for her help yet, at least not for such personal matters as this clearly was.

“This is about Gregson, isn’t it?”

Sherlock once again turned his head, and instead of answering voiced his own question. “Watson, did your parents ever… discipline you?”

Joan was caught off guard by the question, and a bit confused as to why Sherlock was asking. “Well, it depends what you mean by discipline. When I did something wrong my parents would put me on a time out, and when I got older I was lectured by them, usually followed by grounding.”

“But did they ever,…um, use corporal punishment on you?”

Joan blushed, a bit embarrassed that Sherlock was asking such personal questions, but hoping that by answering them she would get to the root of whatever was causing the tension that had been present the past hour. “No, they never did, they didn’t believe it was effective. Personally I think that it works for some people, but not for others. It depends on the emotional stability of the person being spanked, and what they respond best too.” 

As she said this Sherlock turned and looked at her, looking Joan in the eye and asking in a voice that was clearly meant to appear calm and collected, which it almost did, if not for the faint catch in his voice when he asked “But if they had, spanked you that is, would you have let them? Or would you have fought it?”

“Well, they’re my parents, so I probably would have. I trust them to do what is best for me, and if that included spanking me to make sure I learned my lesson, then that’s what would have happened.”

“But what if you did something wrong now and they wanted to spank you, even if they’ve never done it before. Would you still allow them to do it? If you didn’t would that make them feel like you didn’t trust them anymore?”

Realization dawned on Joan’s face. “Sherlock…did Gregson say he was going to spank you?”

Sherlock immediately looked down, suddenly finding his lap quite interesting. In a voice so soft that Joan had to strain to catch the words he answered, “Last time, after he punched me, he said that if I ever did anything like that again he would spank me with his belt.”

Joan quickly stood up, filled with outrage on Sherlock’s behalf. First Gregson had punched him the stomach, now he planned on beating Sherlock with his belt!? She had thought that perhaps Gregson had learned that Sherlock didn’t respond well to violence, and that she would not tolerate Gregson doing anything like that again, but apparently Gregson hadn’t got the message. He soon will she thought, and she went to the door, quickly pulling on her coat and heading to the door, raring to give Gregson a piece of her mind.

“Watson what are you doing?”

“I’m not going to let Gregson do that to you Sherlock! He has no right to do that to you!”

Sherlock rushed over to her, grabbing her arm, not tight enough so as to force her to stay, but enough so that she would stop long enough to listen to him.

“I agreed to it when he purposed it to be my method of punishment, he is not forcing me to do anything.”

Pulling her arm from his grip Joan turned to face him. “Then why the questions before? That proved to me that even if you did agree to such discipline you are still frightened by the prospect.”

“I am not frightened Watson, it is just an experience of which I am ill-prepared for, as there is little reference available, outside of kink sites, and I doubt the contents of those will prove useful in whatever Gregson has planned. I was merely seeing if perhaps you could enlighten me about the process and what one is supposed to do in such situations.”

“That still doesn’t make it right! Healthy relationships don’t involve beating the other person Sherlock. I won’t let him do that to you!”

Just as Sherlock was about to answer the doorbell rang.

Sherlock’s eyes nearly bulged out of his skull, “Captain, I don’t think now is a good time, perhaps you could come back another time-”

In the time it had taken him to say this Joan had already gotten to the door and wrenched it open.

“You. Kitchen. Now.”

Gregson quickly looked to Sherlock, who looked altogether stunned by Joan’s actions. Gregson’s confusion based paralysis was soon overridden by Joan’s glare, and he quickly made his way to the kitchen. Sherlock made to follow but Joan pointed to the couch, indicating that he should sit there and wait for them to be done. Sherlock quickly obeyed, not wanting to fall victim to Joan’s maternal rage.

Once they got to the kitchen Joan turned around and looked at Gregson, her eyes blazing with fury. Her voice was deceptively calm as she asked “Did you or did you not tell Sherlock that you were going to spank him with your belt?”

Gregson floundered under her glare, trying to appease her. “Well, yes but-”

“Stop. I don’t want to hear another word. You’re going to listen and listen well. You are not to hurt Sherlock, do you understand me? I thought that the relationship that he had with you would help him form attachments to other people, but if you are going to abuse his trust like this and use it to your own advantage then I don’t think that you should see him anymore.”

At this point Gregson tried to protest, but clearly Joan wasn’t finished yet, as she once again silenced him with her patented glare that could leave grown men shaking in their shoes.

“I can’t believe that after I told you that Sherlock was emotionally still a kid you would think that whipping him with your belt was appropriate! That’s abuse even by adult standards, but if you did that to Sherlock he just might break. I thought that you cared about him more than that. Heck, I thought you cared about him period, but I guess that’s not the case. You know, at least Sherlock’s father never hit Sherlock, the neglect was bad enough but what you’re doing is even worse. You’re using Sherlock’s need for stability and a father figure and blackmailing him into letting you hit him, and letting him think that he deserves it!”  
Gregson could see that Joan would not be stopping her rant anytime soon, and to be honest he didn’t think that he could take much more before blowing up at her, which he definitely didn’t want to do. It was obvious that Joan was just protecting her friend, but was clearly misunderstanding his position. Gregson wasn’t just going to stand there and take the abuse, he could hold his own in a verbal battle if that’s what Joan wanted to do.

But no, he thought, he couldn’t fight with Joan, not with Sherlock in the next room, probably hearing everything they were saying, damn his super-sensory hearing. He was probably enough on edge as it was, he didn’t need Joan, intentionally or not, planting the thought that Gregson was lying to him or using him right before punishment. That would undermine everything he was trying to say.

“Hey, wait a second. One, I never planned to beat Sherlock with my belt, I planned to spank him, there’s a difference. Two, I changed my mind after I spanked Marcus, and yes, I spanked Marcus, and I can assure you that I did not in fact beat him, but helped absolve him of the guilt that he was feeling. Three, this is to help Sherlock get past his guilt, not for me to take pleasure in causing him pain. And four, you can say whatever the heck you want about my methods but don’t you dare ever say I don’t care about that boy in there, because I do. More than you could ever know, and maybe I don’t always show it, but I love him like a son, alright. If you honestly think that he would somehow be damaged by being taken over my knee and given a spanking with my hand then by all means tell me. Because I will do whatever it takes to help Sherlock become the great man I know he can be.”

As she listened to what Gregson had to stay Joan’s anger slowly, but surely, abated. It wasn’t the words that Gregson said that swayed her, but the look in his eyes, the tone of his voice when he said them. The depth of the emotion was shocking, and soon she found herself wondering how she could have ever doubted that Gregson had been acting in Sherlock’s best interests.

“Captain, I’m sorry…”

“Hey, it’s alright, you were doing your best to protect him. I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

She smiled at him, but then she remembered the subject of their argument, still sitting on the couch. No doubt even more anxious and worried about his punishment then he had been previously. She turned to Gregson “What do you want me to-”

“I think this would work better if you weren’t present. He’s likely already self-conscious enough as it is. Believe me, I’ve had more experience with this lately then I ever wanted to.”

“So did you really spa-”

“Yes, and I would appreciate if you didn’t let on that you knew.”  
“Of course.” At this Joan swiftly left the kitchen and grabbed her purse. She turned to Sherlock, who hadn’t moved an inch from the couch and said “I’m going to the store, alright? I’ll be back in a bit.”

Sherlock nodded, and began to worry the edge of a cushion until Gregson walked in and sat down beside him.

“So how much of that did you hear?”

“All of it, but really Captain, did you expect any different? It wasn’t as if you two were trying to conceal your voices.”

“I meant it you know, every word.”

“I know that, do you think me incapable of discerning whether or not something is a lie. I had rather hoped that you thought better of my skills.”

“Hey, don’t twist it like that.”

“I’m not twisting anything. I just want this entire ordeal to be over with so that we may continue with our day to day affairs and can continue to work as a cohesive unit.”

“Look Sherlock if you think that this isn’t going to work for you then-”

I’m fine Captain, I am not as fragile as you and Miss Watson seem to think. I am not a child and can therefore take a child’s punishment without all this fuss. Can we not just get this over with so I can get back to my work? I have other things to do tonight.”

“Drop the attitude Sherlock, I don’t deserve that. I’m just trying to help.”

“Well did it ever occur to you that perhaps I don’t need this kind of help? Why can’t things just go back to the way they were before?”

“If you really wanted that to happen then why were you defending me to Joan. Don’t look so surprised, I could hear you through the door. You agreed, and I think that you agreed because you want a closer relationship with me, a relationship that involves consequences. But now you’re having second thoughts, wondering if this is really what you want, if I’ll stick with it or if I’ll abandon you like everyone else has over the years.”

He gently gripped Sherlock’s chin and turned brought them face to face. Sherlock’s eyes were bright with unshed tears, though he seemed to be desperately trying to keep them from falling.

“I will never abandon you, never leave you to battle your demons on your own. It may have taken me a bit to get it, but I see now how much you need me, how much I need you. Not for your brain or what you can do for me, but for you Sherlock, all of you, your personality, your strange and fascinating way of seeing the world. You’ve become a part of my life that I couldn’t bear to lose, and that’s why I’m doing this. I couldn’t stand to know that you got hurt because you didn’t tell me about evidence that put you in harms way. That I could have saved you but I didn’t make it in time. Do you know how much that would destroy me? I need to know that this will never, ever happen again. Okay?”

“Okay” Sherlock said, barely audible, tears streaming down unbeknownst to the one who was shedding them. He was so confused at what Gregson was saying. He wanted him? All of him, not just what helped in his job, but outside of work to? He wasn’t going to leave if Sherlock broke again? Why did Gregson care so much? It didn’t make logical sense. He was broken, no one could ever want a son like him. He was a burden, he wasn’t normal. He was a freak. He felt like he should tell Gregson this. Should warn him before he got in so deep that he stayed with Sherlock out of some form of obligation, slowly beginning to resent him.

Yet the selfish part of his mind made him keep silent beside the one word answer, wanting to take in as much comfort from the words as he could before Gregson’s eventual realization that he wasn’t worth it. He would enjoy it for as long as he could.

Gregson could sense that not all was right with Sherlock, unfortunately he didn’t have Sherlock’s deductive skills, and was unable to discern what it was. Hopefully whatever it was would be absolved during the spanking.

“So, are you ready?”

Sherlock nodded, unable to get the words past his lips, and rose only to awkwardly stop, wondering how to position himself. He looked to Gregson of guidance and Gregson gently grasped his arm and lead him over his knee without a word, hoping his actions spoke for him. He didn’t waste any time in starting the punishment, and after about twelve swats he began to lecture.

“Why are you receiving this spanking Sherlock?”

“Because I withheld evidence crucial to a case that ended up almost getting Detective Bell’s brother killed.”

“And?”

“….um disobeying orders?”

“How about putting yourself in danger? What if Reyes had decided it was easier to shoot you than go after Andre?”

“But what does that matter, I solved the case didn’t I?”

“What does it matter!? Sherlock, I thought we had dealt with this, you matter so much more than solving a case.”

“No I don’t! I’m not useful for anything besides my mind. Nobody cares about what happens to me besides that!

Gregson suddenly stopped spanking, gently moving Sherlock so that he was kneeling on the floor. Gregson also kneeled down and gathered Sherlock in his arms, and though Sherlock struggled at first, close to hysterical, he soon settled down and buried himself against Gregson, still fearful that soon Gregson would realize that he didn’t really care about Sherlock, that he wasn’t worth caring about.

“What’s this about buddy? Why can’t you accept that people care about you?”

“You don’t really care. You might think that you love me, but nobody can. I’m worthless.”

Gregson had never felt such a powerful anger as he did at that very moment. He knew who told Sherlock this. It was his bastard of a father, a person who neglected him, a person whose only words to his son were said to tear him down, not build him up. A son who has buried his insecurities for years, using drugs to not only cope with a mind that is unlike any other, but the lack of any real love by people who were supposed to care for him.

Gregson held Sherlock even closer, rubbing his back and letting him sob.

“You are not worthless Sherlock. You are so very special, so very loved. Joan, Marcus and I all care about you. We will not leave you, not ever. I need you to trust me, I need you to understand. Do you Sherlock?”

“I…I’ll t….try.”

“Good, that’s all I can ask kid, is that you give me a chance, because I will try my very best to show you how loved you are.”

“Thank you.”

At this Sherlock totally relaxed in Gregson’s arms, and the sobs slowly died down. 

“Are you ready to finish your punishment?”

Sherlock nodded into Gregson’s chest and they resumed the position. Neither talked for the remaining swats, as both were trying to get their heads around what had occurred. Sherlock was still trying to comprehend having a dad who cared, and Gregson could hardly fathom how damaged Sherlock really was and how he was supposed to fix it. He felt like they had made great strides tonight, but there was still a long way to go.  
Finally, the punishment came to an end, and Sherlock quickly got up and wiped away the remaining tears, trying to appear unaffected by what had happened.

“Well, thank you for that Captain, I can assure you that such an incident will not have a re-occurrence. Now if you will excuse me-”

“Sherlock.”

Knowing that the lines of his relationships with his co-workers turned sons was in a state of constant flux at the moment, Gregson didn’t particularly care that he was acting a bit mushier than he normally would have. Hell, after what he had seen tonight, Sherlock deserved this and more.

“You won’t be getting anymore work done tonight, so come here.”

Sherlock hesitantly sat down next to Gregson, keeping a few inches between them lest his contact be unwelcome. Upon seeing this Gregson sighed, and with one arm drew Sherlock so that he was leaning against his chest. He grabbed a blanket that was lying on the back of the couch and draped it over himself and Sherlock, and getting as comfortable as he could under the circumstances, Gregson settled in for the night. He would worry about recovering his manliness in the morning, for now his son needed him and that was all that mattered.

Sherlock went stiff when Gregson pulled him to his chest, but soon settled down. A feeling of safety washed over him, unlike anything he had ever felt. He knew that no harm would befall him when in the arms of this great, powerful man and he was content in this knowledge.

That’s how Joan found them when she returned from the store, snuggled on the couch, twin small smiles gracing their lips. She adjusted the blanket and made her way upstairs, happy for Sherlock, that he finally found what he was looking for.


	6. Chapter 6

Upon waking Gregson noticed two things. The couch, still slightly warm from the spot where Sherlock had no doubt recently vacated, and sounds coming from the kitchen, pans clanging and the coffee maker gurgling away. He rubbed his eyes, trying to dislodge the last few clinging tendrils of sleep. No sooner had he sat up then Sherlock entered the room wearing a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, looking as casual as Gregson had ever seen him.

He gave Gregson a shy, almost unnoticeable smile. Busying himself at the table, Sherlock cleared up the case files that he and Joan had looked at the night before, not making eye contact with Gregson. He wasn’t sure how he should act around the man yet. Was he supposed to play the role of a loving son? If so, how did one do that? He’d never had any experience with a father who actually paid any attention to him, so at this point he was trying to discretely deduce what Gregson wanted before the man could notice. He decided to start on a fairly neutral topic, hoping that he would be able figure it out before Gregson noticed. “Joan’s out for a run so I took the liberty of making us both some breakfast.”

“You can cook?” He asked, still somewhat out of it. He’d barely learned to comprehend that Sherlock ate food, much less knew how to cook.

“Despite what some may think Captain, I’m not totally helpless.” Sherlock winced internally. This was not how he had wanted things to go. He didn’t want to start an argument when he was still on such uneven ground.

By now Gregson was more awake, and had started to notice that Sherlock was acting a little off. He was definitely acting defensive, as well as looking at him with that calculating gaze that he usually saved for suspects. “Hey, it’s not like that I just thought-”

“Never mind Captain, it’s alright.” He tried to steer the conversation back the original topic saying “Well, shall we get started? The food’s getting cold and we have to be at the office soon.”

A sudden look of panic passed over Gregson’s face, and he quickly looked at his watch. The small, black numbers seemed to mock him. 8:30 the numbers read, though Gregson saw it as saying “you’re going to be late!” in big, bold letters. He quickly got up from the couch, straightening his suit and searching for his shoes. He still had to get home and change suits, and since he had to be into the office by 9 he wouldn’t have time to shower. Breakfast would have to be forgone as well, which put him into an even worse mood.

“Why didn’t you wake me before now?!” Though this was yelled out of frustration Sherlock, still not quite trusting that Gregson would be different from his father, quickly backed up. He knew it had been too good to be true. He knew that Gregson’s promises of family and love from the night before had to have been fallacies.   
Yet, the small, hopeful part of him that first Irene and then Joan had nurtured in him had believed the man. He had believed that maybe his father had been wrong, because if such wonderful people felt this way about him then maybe he wasn’t worthless. Of course, he thinks to himself, such hopes are foolish and trivial. He’s a grown man, and it’s time he started acting like it. He didn’t need a father anyway, not anymore. 

Gregson looked over to Sherlock, quickly realizing that yelling at the kid so soon after what happened last night was not such a good idea. Damn, these kids acted like they were made out of spun glass sometimes. All it took was some poorly placed words and they crumbled. Lateness be damned, he thought. I’m not going to wreck this so soon after I finally got it right.

He walked over to where Sherlock stood slowly, like one would approach a startled animal. He could have thundered over for all the notice Sherlock gave him, still lost in his own thoughts of supposed abandonment. The hand on his shoulder shocked him out of it, and he flinched away from Gregson’s hand. Calmly Gregson put it back, though Sherlock remained tense as if expecting Gregson to start some kind of tirade about his faults. Sherlock probably did expect him to do that, he mused.

“Hey, sorry ‘bout that. Saw I was going to be late and was frustrated that I hadn’t woken up earlier. Not your fault.”

Sherlock instantly relaxed. His father had never apologized to him before berating him, in fact he’d never apologized at all. Had he misjudged? Allowed his emotions to cloud his judgment and jump to conclusions? Now he made Gregson feel like he had done something wrong, what if Gregson thought that he was a burden, what if this was the last straw and-

His mouth moved against his will, not even thinking he replied “It was my fault, I should have known you had to go home and change.”

Sighing, Gregson moved his hand from its position on Sherlock’s shoulder and wrapped it around him, firmly gripping the opposite shoulder. With his arm around him Gregson started to lead Sherlock to the table.

“You know, I think you were right, breakfast then the office. Is that scrambled eggs I smell?”

The small smile that Sherlock had earlier in the morning made a reappearance. Maybe he was over thinking things. Perhaps Gregson also didn’t know how this new spin on their relationship worked. Perhaps they could figure it out together.

“Yes, actually. I learned how to make them from a friend in London, when we where on a case. We found the man dead, covered in what appeared to be his breakfast but I noticed that there was something off about the eggs…”

Gregson smiled while taking in Sherlock’s story, amused by the way the kid had such a short attention span about some things, but could have such a fierce drive and determination about others. He was getting better at figuring out what his kids needed. Though it was going to take some getting used to, and a hella lota work on his part, the future, at least at this moment, looked just a little bit brighter.


End file.
